


Kinkmeme Collection: Thedas Edition

by PhoenixBorn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 10:19:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixBorn/pseuds/PhoenixBorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short, mini, micro, and misfire Dragon Age kinkmeme fills; includes plotless porn and no porn pieces. Pairings will be listed per chapter, if any.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handled Desire [Anders]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Porn** Anders masturbating while trying to hide it from his companions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masturbation, outdoors, auditory accidental voyeurism, heterosexual sex

They were kissing.

 _Maker_ , they were _kissing_!

Anders didn’t have to turn around from his seat against the tree to know what they were doing. Despite the couple’s attempts to muffle their antics, he could hear them quite clearly. Granted, he wasn’t very far from them - three yards at most. He was supposed to be keeping watch, but he was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate. In the few weeks since the Chantry incident, the whole party - aside from Sebastian - had taken to the road; he could see the growing lust in their eyes each day they resisted any more than holding hands or a passing peck. The group had joked that they were all suffering from the couple’s sexual tension.

And now he had caught them relieving it. _Maker._

Though wholly mortified, he found himself transfixed by the sounds of soft lips uniting and parting in silent confession, the increasingly heavy and shallow breathing in quiet wishing.

They kissed. His own desire began to reveal itself as he imagined his gorgeous companions' lips merging repeatedly. He wondered if their desire stayed with their parting lips, wholly focused on one aspect of their bodies. Or perhaps their intimacy would broaden as hands explored hard muscle or soft curves.

Anders had his answer when her breath hitched. Her breathing only slightly shortened after that. Likely the other man and pinched one of her peaking nipples and was now rolling it between his fingers. An image of her bare, arching her back into her lover’s hand, his mouth lapping at her other breast, and her teeth clutching to one of her own index fingers’ knuckles rose into his mind, accompanying his body’s craving.

A sound of shifting, the two bodies rolling with each other in their bedrolls, the kissing continuing as they moved. Anders’ will was quickly breaking, as he reached a hand into his pants and wrapped his fingers around his hot member. A soft chuckle escaped the other man’s mouth and she gasped. The mage wanted to poke his head around the trunk of the tree and watch their lust unleash, his heart pounding in his chest. He let his thumb caress his own soft flesh to the sound of lips and thickening breathe. The pair rolled again and he felt a drop of liquid against his thumb.

A tiny, high pitched moan escaped her lips. Her breathing immediately shortened and became heavier. He began to rub himself up and down, pleasure rippling through his body. More quick, heavy breaths and he pulled and pushed the hot skin between his legs with increasing speed. His own breath shortened as he kindled his desire and he opened his increasingly hot coat to the cool night air.

Her breathing slowed for a few moments and he wondered if she had already reached her peak. Then her breathe grew heavy again, as well as her lovers’. Anders bit back a moan as he stroked a little harder, the soft noise behind him silently announcing their union. Her breathing began to take on volume, but the other man quickly cut it off. A soft groan escaped his lips while they swallowed another one of her moans. Anders’ rubbed himself harder as he heard the sound of hips meeting hips join in, his own hips practically thrusting into the air. The couple’s pace began steady and Anders pumped in time. The pace grew faster and his body eagerly mimicked their need. Still the tempo increased until she was gasping and the sound of flesh slapping practically rang in his ears. His hand followed their example and it took all his will to keep from moaning as well. Finally she let out a tight squeal and his need released all over his legs in an instant of ecstasy. Both his and the breathing behind him slowed while he drew out a few last strokes.

As he returned to himself, Anders kept still, listening to the quiet behind him. There was a bit of shifting in the bedroll as the couple settled themselves, and after a short, tender kiss exchanged between the two, silence. He looked down at his stained clothes in embarrassment and wondered how he was going to clean it out without notice.


	2. Misfire: Don't Stop! [Anders/Merrill]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Porn** Oral, anal stimulation, heterosexual

"Gah! Don't stop!"

Anders threw his head back in sheer bliss, leaning against the wall of the hovel while Merrill dipped her head up and down against his member, using one of her fingers to pump into his ass as she did, unravelling him into a blubbering, whimpering mess. She pumped and sucked and pumped and sucked until finally his body could no longer hold in his desire and he released into her mouth with a loud gasp. Semen dribbled out from the corners of her lips as she pulled away and she removed her finger from him before looking up at where he sat on her bed.

"How was it? Was that alright?" she asked.

He gave a weak smile and replied, "Awesome as always."


	3. Window Panes [Fenris/F!Hawke]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OP asked for sex in front of a window, whether opened or closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Porn** Talking, mild exhibitionism, heterosexual

Marian Hawke rubbed the soap from her cropped black hair and her pale body languidly. After a long few days of weeding out slavers and raiders and bandits from the Wounded Coast, she desperately needed this bath. She breathed in the light scented oil, the gentle heat coaxing at her tired muscles, massaging away the grit and grime between her toes and behind her ears. The water cooled and she pulled herself reluctantly from its soft embrace, grabbing a towel to dry herself off. Then she pulled on her long, silken, faded blue bathrobe and went into her room.

“Fenris,” she said as she closed the door behind her, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The elven warrior sat on the foot of her bed, one ankle resting on the other knee, a slight smirk on his lips as his eyes drank in the sight of her.

“You know I cannot stay away for long,” he replied.

She smiled and walked to the desk in the corner of the room and said as she sorted through a few letters and closed her journal, “So, how have you been these past few days?”

Fenris stood and stepped behind her, resting his clawed hands on the curve of her hips. He leaned forward slightly, his hot breath brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Patient.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow, tilting her head sideways slightly, glancing at him in the corner of her eye.

He brushed his lips against her cheek, then grazed his teeth slowly against the ridge of her ear. His hands dragged up her sides, smooth cloth rippling along the path, followed her ribs and continued up to cup her breasts.

She swatted his hand playfully, wearing an equivalent smile and said, “Stop. You can wait a few minutes while I finish up.”

“You underestimate my need for you,” he replied, then pressed himself against her, thrusting his hips forward so she could feel his thick heat against her ass.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she rolled her hips teasingly, pretending to examine a few papers as she did, “I’m not sure I can see your _point_.”

He growled. A gauntleted hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around, pulling her away from the desk. His lips crashed against hers and the force pushed them against the wall. She barely registered the glass panes pressed against her shoulder blades while thriving against the current of Fenris’ hungry mouth, his hands roaming all over her thinly veiled body. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, sliding against her teeth before flicking the tip of her own tongue. Their tongues swirled together and he pressed himself more fully against her, hard breastplate digging into her sternum. Her tongue pressed against his and he pressed back, then flicking up and down against each other as she reached one hand to his shoulder to work off his armor. The first clasp came undone and he broke away suddenly, ravenous hunger burning in his eyes. She barely had time to register what was happening as he ripped open her bathrobe, letting it drop to the floor, and he spun her around. She found herself leaning forward, rough stone against her quads, cool glass against her breasts, her nipples hardening at the contact, her hands flat on the window panes. Overlooking Hightown in the bright afternoon brought her out of her lust-induced haze, even as she heard the quick rustling of leather behind her.

“Fenris, what are you...?” she said hesitantly, heat creeping along her face as well as her groin. Cool metal brushed gingerly against her folds, the combined sensations sending a shiver down her spine. He chuckled.

“I did not realize you would enjoy something so _periculosus_ ,” he murmured into her ear. Before she could say anything, he pressed the head of his burning cock against her already saturated entrance. His hips continued forward and she gasped. He started moving at a moderate pace, in and out, the strokes shallow but consistent, soft moans escaping her open mouth, slowly fogging a portion of the glass.

“Do you enjoy this?” he asked mockingly, “That every noble in Hightown might see you fucked by me?” Her only response was her intermittent moans. A few more strokes and he stopped, only the tip still inside.

“Fenriiisss...” she whimpered, moving her hips to regain the friction. His metal-covered hands clamped down on her hips to still her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said.

“Fenris, please!” she said in frustration. One of her hands dropped from the window pane and reached down towards his shaft, but before it got anywhere close he grabbed her wrist and pressed it back up against the glass. She tried wiggling her hips and his hand came back down to still her again.

“Yes! Maker, yes!” she called, “Let those bloody pompous asses see, just fuck me, Fenris! Please!” At that he drove himself into her, going harder and faster than before. Leather smacked against her bare ass as he pounded into her, her breasts providing a cushion against the glass. He then grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back, a sharp yelp escaping between moans.

“Tell me how much you enjoy my cock,” he said, his lips dragging against the shell of her ear as he continued to drive into her, “Would you have any other cock but mine?”

“Ne- never!” she said, her brain a puddle of goo against Fenris’ onslaught, “You're so good and so big and - ahh!” He began thrusting faster. “So much - oh, Fenris! Fenris!”

He reached his other armored hand over to hers still on the glass and grabbed a hold of it, his thrusts a torrent against her, and guided her hand down to her own nub. She followed his ministrations and rubbed as he continued his attack on her insides. The tension in her body built and built until finally her pleasure skyrocketed and she cried out in ecstasy, Fenris letting out a moan of release just as she did. His head collapsed onto her shoulder and he panted as his heart hammered in his chest. When his breath evened out he began kissing along her shoulder and up her neck, drawing her into an embrace.

“That was a lovely ‘welcome home’ gift,” she said, folding her arms on top of his own.

“Stay, and I will be happy to give you more,” he said.

“You mean lock myself in a room with you for you to have your wiley-wiley way with me?” she said, “You’re temptation dipped in chocolate!”

Fenris rolled his eyes with a smirk and gave her a deep kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> periculosus - Latin for perilous or risky; just didn't feel right trying to get Fenris to sat "riske"  
> Fun fact: This piece was my first finished porn.


	4. Challenge: Petrice [Petrice]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OP had challenged the community to humanize our least favorite characters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Porn**

_Nine years old..._

"Papa!"

Petrice's screeching warning came too late - the runaway cart crashed into her father and against the inn wall. One moment he was bent over picking up a head of cabbage that rolled away from kind old Miss Berret's basket, and the next he was... he was...

Please, Papa, don't be dead.

_Thirteen years old..._

She sat up, holding her sickly mother's hand tightly, tears rolling from her eyes. Her breath was raspy and harsh, her body was weak. Then she stopped breathing. The nurse came to pull her hand away, but Petrice slapped the woman's hand and dove onto her mother's still torso, sobbing loudly.

"Please, Mama, you can't be dead! You can't!" her voice muffled, "Don't leave me!"

 

Now the Qunari threaten her city. She will not lose them to their heinous Qun.


	5. A Gift (Fenris/F!Hawke, Anders/F!Hawke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Not porn** Hawke gives Fenris a present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted, love triangle

Fenris stood looking out the window of his bedroom in the “borrowed” mansion, the fire in the hearth warm against his back even as he stood away from it. The sun was beginning to set now. Shalla had not come for him in the past several days. If it weren’t for how she would occasionally walk past his window, with or without others in tow, he would have likely broken down the door to her house. The last time he was with her was during their reading lesson at her home. The memory caressed him; her body bent over his arm, her warm breath as she whispered the right words when he slipped up or misspoke, her long fingers that guided along the pale pages of the book and their softness as they occasionally brushed against his hand. He shook his head. The woman was a temptress like no other, pressing him to where he was struggling just to keep himself from taking her into his arms and claiming her, whether or not her pet abomination was watching. The affection that he had finally accepted twisted and twined itself bizarrely into his daily life and his fascination for her. It was only a matter of time before he would break.

“Knock-knock.”

Fenris turned to face the intruder. Shalla Hawke, in her usual house finery, stood on one foot, the other crossed carelessly in front, leaning against the doorframe to his room, one arm holding a loose package wrapped in silver paper and tied with twine, the other arm rested, held up along the rim in a knocking-like position. A coy smirk played on her lips.

“How did you-”

“You left the door unlocked,” Shalla stated, “Again.”

“Right,” Fenris mumbled.

Shalla lifted herself from the frame and walked leisurely to the table in the middle of the room. Then she plopped the shifting silver package onto the table. Fenris raised his eyebrows.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“A present,” Shalla answered, keeping her usual smirk. Fenris walked over and slowly picked up the package which fell limp in his hands. He rubbed his fingers against the material; it felt like some sort of cloth was inside.

“What for?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Fenris!” she covered her mouth in mock horror, “Don’t tell me you forgot your anniversary!”

He paused. Then, Fenris’ eyes widened slightly. Today was the day he escaped from Danarius, seven years ago. Had it really been that long?

“I don’t remember telling you about this,” he realized.

“I see. One too many bottles of Agrigio, and I’m not important enough to remember,” she said, making fake sob sounds, throwing her hand up against her forehead theatrically. He blinked. That was last year when he decided to save the last of his former master’s Agrigio in the cellars. He could faintly remember Shalla’s general silhouette sitting in front of him, and snippets of his own voice prattling on about fog or something.

“What did I say?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Everything,” she said flatly, then gestured to the package in his hands and said, “Are you going to open it or not?”

He gave a short hum but couldn’t help from keeping a small smile on his face. He untied the twine, which fell to the ground. The silver wrapping loosened and opened itself from behind. He pushed the paper over and to the side. A shirt. He held it up by the shoulders and let it fall open from the folding. No, it was a tunic. A straight, rich green tunic, with thick black borders and thin, gold-wired trimming across the edges. Two two-inch slits ran up the side along the hems on the side of the tunic. At the neckline was another two-inch long slit that the black border and gold hemming followed. Small jewels clustered sparsely along the border of the neckline - his eyes even caught a few pinprick sized diamonds. He rubbed his fingers over the cloth: Rivaini cotton.

“Hawke,” he said softly, “This is too much. I can’t-”

“Do you like it?” she asked, completely dismissing his feeble protests.

“I,” Fenris stammered, “Yes, but-”

“Good,” she said with her coy smile, “Gaudy is in this week. You have no idea how hard it was to find something simple that doesn’t say ‘peasant boy.’”

He looked back down at the cloth in his hands. It had to cost a fortune. Did she really just have that much money to throw around?

“Well?” she said, “Try it on. I need to make sure it’s good enough for the most handsome elf in Kirkwall.”

And she teased him yet again. He grunted and walked back to the corner of the room. Shalla turned around and pretended to focus on something else. He threw the tunic onto his bed momentarily and unhooked the straps that held his gauntlets to his armor and shoved them off, which fell to the floor with a series of clangs. Then he reached behind his back and began to unbuckle his armored shirt. As the first clip unhooked and the shirt opened up, he glimpsed back and caught her staring in the corner of her eye.

“Naughty, Hawke,” Fenris couldn’t help the words from coming out as he reached for the second set and unclipped it.

“Can you blame a woman?” she teased back. He would swear she was smirking.

He reached awkwardly for the second clip along his back - that one was always the hardest. In a moment, he felt the woman’s hands running along that damnable spot of his back, her legs abhorrently close to his.

“Let me help,” she cooed into his ear, the warm breath tingling. She pressed and the clip opened, a slight bit more of his skin exposed to her. If only she had stopped there, but his arms couldn’t seem to find the will to hold her by the wrist and finish the task himself. She pressed further down his back, opening it to her more and more, her breath torrenting his neck.

“Hawke,” he whispered.

“I have a name, you know,” she whispered slyly, “I’d like you to say it.” He bit into his lip, staring straight at the wall, as she finished unclipping his shirt. But even then it didn’t stop. She ran her hands along his now exposed back, pushing the folds of his shirt open. He felt her though clothed breasts press against his back while her hands wandered from his sides up to his shoulders.

“Hawke,” he repeated. She pushed her hands down his arms, tracing his muscles while the armored shirt came off, him holding back, anxious and dread-filled, silently begging for the torment to cease while needing to feel her more. She reached until she pushed the entire top off by his hands, and the top fell to the ground with a clunk. She traced her fingers back up his arms.

“Does your mage know about this?” he whispered, his voice raspy. She stopped. Her hands and body pulled away from him. He took a second to breath deeply, letting himself calm down, if only slightly.

Once she was safely away, he reached down to the side and picked up the shirt that she had bought for him. He pulled the top over his head and put it on. He looked down at himself. The tunic as a whole was relatively loose, but it was more because of Fenris’ broad shoulders than anything. The sleeves reached down to just below each of his thumbs’ knuckle. The bottom hem of the tunic stop along the upper part of his thigh. He turned around. Shalla was staring at the fire, her back completely turned to him.

“Well?” he more announced than anything else. She turned around and played her coy smile.

“Nice,” she said, walking up to him, standing just a couple of feet in front of him to examine his appearance.

“I knew that color would go great with your skin. Doesn’t do a damn thing for your eyes though,” she said. She looked him up and down thoughtfully and muttered, “Feels like something’s missing...”

She stared a little longer. Then she untied her sash from her waist. A lump in his throat formed and Fenris was about to object when she threw the cloth around his waist and tied it quickly, then stepped back and examined it.

“The colors make it look a bit seasonal,” she muttered. He stood as she stared for a while, keeping himself from shifting under her scrutiny while she was mentally swapping out colors and styles and materials. She grabbed him by the waist again and pulled off her sash. Then she tossed the sash around his neck, forcing him to stumble forward to her. She stared intently as she changed styles of the sash, wrapping it around his neck, unwrapping it, tying it into a bow, miscellaneous and creative sailor knots that didn’t quite work, among other things. All he could really notice was how she was close. So close.

“Hawke,” Fenris whispered, “please, stop.”

“Hm?” An evil glint twinkled in her eye as part of her - her more mischievous part of her - realized a hint of what he meant. She pulled the sash and brought him closer.

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning innocence. 

“Please,” his gut gripped him as he was reduced to pleading - and with a mage, “I can’t...”

She unravelled her sash only to slide it down his body until it was around his waist.

“Can’t what?” she teased devilishly, “I can’t seem to hear you.”

And in that moment, his resolve snapped like a twig. He pushed against her in a rough kiss, making she fall backwards and hit the table with her ass. He pushed her down so she fell onto the table, used bottles and a few dishes falling to the floor, clanging and clattering and breaking. Before she could recover, he climbed on top of her, kissing her fiercely, which she fervently returned. He pulled up his legs in between hers as she lay only slightly inhibited beneath her. His rough hands grabbed whatever skin or body part of her wherever he could as he moved his mouth to her neck. She let out a sharp gasp as he bit down into her lower neck.

“Fenris,” she breathed. He traded between biting and licking and sucking and kissing all along her neck and shoulders. His right hand pressed roughly onto her breast, gripping it possessively, while his right arm slunk underneath her hips and pulled her upwards, giving his legs room to tuck underneath of her.

“Fenris!” she breathed more urgently. His name sounded right to him on her lips.

“Shalla,” he whispered her name back. It tingled. It was right. That was where her name belonged. He broke away from her neck and he noticed her squirming. He kissed her again, but her kisses were more reserved this time. He tried to delve deeper, hungrier, but her kisses became more and more reclused. What was wrong? He pulled himself up from her and looked down, and saw the contorted fusion of perplexion and pain on her face. Her eyes were shut tight, but she didn’t struggle from him now. His breathing evened and he felt an indomitable wave of shame flood over him.

“Shalla, I...” but he stopped himself. Nothing he could say would fix this.

He pulled himself away from her, off the table, and back towards the bed, where he dropped down and hid his face in his hands. She slowly sat herself up from the table. She dropped onto the floor with her feet, picked up her crimson sash, and wrapped it back around her waist. He heard her leave, and he found him cursing himself more passionately than ever.

***

Anders smiled to himself in the pitch black of Darktown. He closed the doors to his clinic and blew out the lantern, then turned to the ladder that lead to the Amell cellars. At the top of the ladder was a heavy door. He pulled out the brass key Shalla had given him and unlocked the door. He grunted as he pushed, the door swinging slowly open. Once he was in the dark cellar, he closed and locked the door behind him, then managed his way through the darkness, one hand out along the wall, until he reached the door to the vault. He unlocked that door and warm, orange light flew into the cellar as he opened the door. He closed and locked the door behind him before walking down a few halls and entering the main hall of the estate. Bodhan greeted him with a warm smile as Anders took a swing around the stairs and walked up onto the balcony. He came to Shalla’s room - their room - and opened it slowly. She was facing her wardrobe, untying the sash around her waist. He walked forward, feet stepping softly, as she pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to the ground. The fire light hugged her body tenderly, beckoning to him. She kicked off her shoes as he stepped closer. Then he noticed a redness along her neck and shoulders. Anders stopped in front of the fire, looking over her bare shoulders with an examining eye.

“What happened?” he asked. Shalla’s muscles tensed slightly.

“Nothing,” she said quickly as she stuck her thumbs in her shorts and dropped them. She stepped one foot out from the clump and kicked it to the pile with the other. Anders grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around to face him.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. He dragged his finger along her neck and shoulder, taking in the red spots and lines that coated her neck.

“I just,” she stammered, “Just found there was a limit to flirting. It won’t happen again.” She didn’t shy away from his touch, but her muscles were still tense.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“Anders, dear, don’t worry about it,” Shalla said, placing her hands on his chest and curling her body into his, “I said it won’t happen again.”

“I need to know if someone tried to hurt you,” he insisted. He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back gently so he could look sternly into her eyes.

“Or are you...?” the phrase choked out of his throat. Shalla’s eyes widened.

“No! No, nothing like that!” she waved her arms in sync with her protest.

“Then why can’t you tell me?” he was growing desperate. Shalla sighed.

“I just don’t want you to go all ‘Justice’ and hurt somebody,” she said softly.

He stared at her.

She was guarding someone, so it was someone she cared about - probably someone he knew. She didn’t have to say the name; he knew it now. A quick well of anger filled in at the thought of that mage-hating elf making a move on her. _The bastard probably just wants to separate us._ But she was also afraid - afraid of him and what he would do. Justice and his diminishing control over the spirit he had welcomed into his body. She never said it, but now he was certain she was just as afraid of it as he was. Slowly, he pulled her back into his chest, his arms wrapping around her bare shoulders and her arms closing themselves around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I wrote this after going overboard reading fanfiction and a several year hiatus from writing. Rereading it now, though I enjoy the concept and pieces of what I did, I'm not terribly happy with the end result. Posted it anyway.


	6. Varric attempts to Nickname the Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In anticipation of DA:I, OP has suggested a piece where Varric gives our potential Inquisitor a nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Porn**

" _No._ "

The Qunari Inquisitor Asranna glared daggers with her golden eyes at the dwarf Varric, his smile pinched in many places while a few of the others around the camp's fire snickered.

"What?" he chuckled, "It suits you!"

"'Horny' is derogatory and inappropriate," she growled, "You shall _not_ call me such."

"Alright, alright," he said placatively, placing his hands up with his palms exposed level with his head, "We'll go with 'Rack' then."

She groaned and wrapped her hand around her face.


	7. I Don't Mind [Merrill, Varric]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Misfire comment and I just happened to be inspired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Not Porn.**

Varric pet Merrill’s head resting on his knee, watching with soft, sad eyes as she sniffled.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

Merrill shook her head and muttered, “Please continue.”

So he continued their story - not his masterpiece, turning Hawke into a champion of Kirkwall and magic, a hero who willfully spurred the mages on into war for freedom and equality with a great and stirring speech, but their story: where Hawke is forced to make a choice and everyone of them that followed had to chose between their conviction and their friend; where the Champion dies in vain under a banner of glory in a war their leader never wanted; where Anders’ corpse walks free as its guest holds fast to its quest for justice.

He and Merrill were all that were left of that band of misfits.

Those days were long gone. The legend of the Champion was a scattering of wild tales, ones where nobody even remembered the name of the protagonist. He had lost track of the years during the War, but as he stroked Merrill’s hair and spoke, he could see those long forty years painted on the both of them.

When his tale was done, he silently continued to pet her. She didn’t make a sound either, but he knew she was still weeping. Despite the ache in his chest, he didn’t join her - he told himself her tears could carry both of their pain.

Her voice cut through the hollow air, “Have you told anyone else that story, Varric?”

“Not unless you want me to,” he offered solemnly.

“Would it be like Bianca’s story, then?” she clarified.

“If you want, it will go to my grave,” he confirmed.

Silence settled again for a few moments, then she decided, “No, it’s alright - I don’t mind.”


End file.
